Meeting of Angels
by Quill of Thoughts
Summary: Set 5 years after the Phantom of the Opera ended,Ange,a girl with bird wings,goes to Paris to explore the sights and possibly investigate the story of the Opera Ghost.Going to the 5th cellar after hearing strange cries,she meets a creature of legend.
1. Chapter 1

**Starting Notes: This story will be close to an M, yet not quite, so more like T+. If you feel that this story should be moved up, just PM me and let me know. I, personally don't think it's quite an M, yet I've lived with this story for almost six months now. It deals with many death related themes, and loss of life. It doesn't really ever touch on romance, so it's all the angsty, emo, cutter nearly-M content. Also, this will be a mixture of all three verses, taking some of my favorite elements from each source. **

**A/N: So, I've decided to take pity on the people who have wanted more of this story, so I've decided to restart this story, considering that it's already written up on paper, and just needs to be typed and uploaded. It's the same story, same characters and all, yet just edited and made better (maybe?) Thanks to the first two people who have reviewed this story, and I'd like it if more people reviewed it. To those who might be worried about Tellall, my Cats story, don't worry because that will still be updated pretty regularly. This'll be updated probably no more than once a week. I'll get the next chapter up soon, so that you won't be too tortured with the cliffie. **

I woke up, panting, in a cold sweat. I had the same nightmare I had had for the past year, and his pained cries still echoed in my ears. It was still before dawn and the cool stones of Notre Dame de Paris weren't as inviting as they had seemed last night. Of course, that might have been because I had flown for two days straight from Venice, Italy. Yes, you heard me right, flown. I appear to be an angel, yet instead of people falling down at my feet, I'm followed by cries of "monster" and "demon." My black-tipped grey wings allowed me to fly and go places most humans only dream of, yet they also ostracized me from society. It was a sad existence of mine because I was always alone and I knew it would remain that way for the rest of my life. It was a brilliantly clear night, awful for being hidden, yet beautiful for stargazing. I stuffed my small blanket that I used as a bed into my bag and looked up at the sky. There was a rare shooting star and I thought to myself, _I wish for a reason to stay here. Just once, I want to be able to stay somewhere._

Shaking my head to rid myself of the self-pity, I ran and jumped off the side of the cathedral, spreading my wings out at the last minute so that I wouldn't kill myself. Folding my wings in and looking up and down the streets for any people, I started walking down the deserted streets in search of some food vendor's cart. Luckily, there was a fruit vendor who had left his cart out overnight, so I filled the empty space in my bag with the fruit and I pulled a perfectly ripe pear off of the cart to eat. Looking up at the building, I noticed that I was standing underneath an opera house. Not just any opera house though, yet the famous Opéra Populair. The famous story of the Opera Ghost had made it all over Europe and I had always wanted to see this opera. Even the ghost, if I were lucky enough. The story was the only reason as to why I was here in Paris, rather than in some remote forest village.

"Where is she? Where is my angel?" I heard faintly from inside the opera house. I could barely hear it, even with my hawk-like hearing, yet I was so surprised that I jumped away from the building and flapped my wings nervously. I looked around for any humans who might have seen that, yet luckly there wasn't anyone around. That voice seemed familiar, yet I couldn't quite place it, even though I knew I should have known it instantly. "I need you! Angel!" he cried again. My eyes grew to be as large as saucers. No, no, it can't be. It can't be my Songbird. It can't be him, considering he had been dead for a year. It was his cries of anguish and pain that had kept me awake for the past year. I pulled my bag around and fumbled with the clasp as I bent down to the window. I had a set of lock picks that I could use to get into this building and find my Songbird, my life.

I slid through the now-open window, being mindful of my wings, and looked around this dusty room. It appeared to be like a chapel, with various people's portrait sitting behind long-since-melted candles. I walked through the open door and looked around, listening for something to hint as to where my Songbird was. I heard the sound of glass shattering and I ran down several dark corridors until I came up to a dark lake. I looked across it, wondering why my Songbird would be in this dark place underground, yet I didn't hesitate from going across when I heard, "Angel! I'm dying without you!" I unfolded my wings and flew across the lake, dodging stalactites and stalagmites until I landed on a rocky shore. There were scraps of paper all over the place, broken glass (I was lucky I had nicked shoes in the last town I was in), and candles burning. Yet, in the center of this mess was a tall man, with dark hair and wearing a pure, white mask. Burning rage welled up in me as I watched this man moan and rock back and forth with my Songbird's voice. I stalked over to him, and slapped him, causing him to fly sideways. He looked up at me and glared at me from two different colored eyes. Even his eyes were the same as my Songbird's. He tried to pull out a length of rope out, yet I ripped it out of his hands and pressed my knee against his stomach. I might not know much about this place, yet I knew with absolute certainty, that this man wasn't my Songbird, and that he needed to pay for deciving me.

"Where is he? What have you done with him?" I shouted at him, tears threatening to come to my eyes.

"Who? Who are you looking for?" he asked weakly.

"My Songbird! He was crying for help earlier! I heard him. Tell me or I'll kill you!" I said, pulling my bone knife out of its leather sheath.

"I don't know. There was only me crying out, yet please, kill me. I can't take life anymore," he asked, looking more pathetic than any animal I had ever seen before, including the stupidest spider caught in his own web. I looked down into his eyes, which seemed so dead already, and raised my knife up. In the downward plunge, I poured my rage, my despair, my guilt into the act of killing this man, whoever he was. The man looked away at the last moment, and I felt a moment's relief as I twisted the knife, pulled it out and walked to the edge of the water and sat down, sobbing as I felt afresh the grief I had felt when my Songbird had first died.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: And Voila, after several months, I finally have the second chapter up. Character development, flashbacks, and enough foreign languages to make your eyes spin. I'm using French, Romanian, and Hungarian for the foreign languages, in case you can't figure out what they're saying. Not to say other than yes, I know the Phantom's personality changes a lot. **

I sat on the edge of the lake, sobbing and cleaning my now-bloody knife in the water. How could I allow myself to have hoped that my Songbird was alive? I knew he was dead, had seen him get killed and mutilated with my own eyes, and I shouldn't have thought otherwise.

"Not again…not again…I was so close to death that time. I could feel it coming, yet something pulls me back to life. I must truly be a monster if Hell can't take me," someone said. I spun, not expecting another person to be here, and I landed in the water when I saw that the same man who I had killed moments ago stand up and brush his shirt off. I stood up carefully and looked at him, pointing with my knife.

"How could you have survived that? No person alive could have survived something like that," I said, my voice shaking slightly. The man whipped his head over to me, looked me up and down as he adjusted the white mask on his face and smoothed some stray hairs.

"Now, Ange de la Mort, that is the million-franc question. How indeed? If even you, l'Ange de la Mort, couldn't deliver me to death, then how can I be truly human? I've tried poisoning, strangling, drowning, everything, and it still doesn't work," he said, looking quite different than he did before I stabbed him. I cautiously stepped out of the water and started walking towards him slowly.

"What did you call me? I know it's something French, yet that's the only European language that I don't really know," I said. He took a half-step back as I fell into clearer view before answering.

"I called you the Angel of Death. Aren't…aren't you an angel?" he asked me.

"Îngerul Morţii?" I said, momentarily reverting to my native Romanian. I shook my head, trying to get English back in my head and said, "Sir, the only angelic thing about me is my name. Why my mother had the audacity to name me Ange, I'll never know."

"Your name is Ange, mademoiselle?" he asked me. I nodded. "And you're human? How?"

"I have absolutely no clue. The Fates most likely hate me and want to make me sorry," I said. I took another step towards him and pointed at him with my knife. "You though, why wouldn't Hell even want you?" I asked him.

"It's because of the mask I wear," he said bitterly, turning away from me momentarily. "Not to mention the deeds I've done. The Phantom of the Opera, the one who killed without thought, and the one who destroyed the Opéra Populaire."

"Destroyed?" I said, my mind reeling. I had heard of the Phantom of the Opera before, yet I wasn't quite sure where. He nodded sullenly as he walked over to a broken organ, almost like it was habit, yet looked at its ruined keys and turned back to me. "The opera house upstairs?"

"Yes, yes! The famous Opéra Populaire that lies upstairs, burnt to a crisp, and can never be fixed. My life's work betrayed me," he said, throwing his hands around.

"Yet, sir, the opera house upstairs is mostly fine. When I went through it, there was only some smoke damage to most of the house," I said. "You said you're the Phantom of the Opera, correct?" He nodded sadly, and started shuffling some sheaves of paper around. "You're the Great Phantom? The man whose reputation surpasses that of Chopin in the opera houses of Italy? The Phantom who knew the Opéra Populaire better than the builders themselves and wrote Don Juan Triumphant?" I remembered where I had first heard about him. I had been with my Songbird in Venice, sleeping on an Opera rooftop when we heard the story. I had just met him…

"_Yeah, the Opera Ghost. I had heard his story on the last opera house I had stayed on," Songbird said. _

"_Really? What's the story, and why are all of the people scared of him?" I asked, turning onto my stomach to look at Songbird. He smiled and looked over at me as he ran his hand through his long, brown hair. _

"_Well, you see, the Opera Ghost, or OG, had lived in the Opéra Populaire and helped with its construction. Of course, no one ever saw him, yet he was there none the less. After a few years, a pretty little brunette came along and he quickly became obsessed with her. He didn't see how much it hurts her, I guess because a szerelem vak. Love is blind. He kidnapped her, and the managers made a huge ruckus about it. He let her go, and she was terrified to sing again. She ended up having to sing again to get rid of him. He wrote Don Juan Triumphant, an excellent opera, if I do say so myself, and ended up burning the opera house in the finale. The singer's fiancé went after her and nearly died. They finally escaped and when the mob that went to go kill the Ghost never found him the opera house was abandoned," Songbird explained. I nodded slowly. _

"_Can we go to Paris sometime? Just to see if the stories were true?" I asked him. _

"_Yeah. Ember tervez, Isten végez, though. Man plans, God executes," he replied softly as he closed his eyes. _

"_Thanks again, for putting up with me," I muttered softly as I fell asleep. _

"_It's fine. I enjoy the company," he replied…_

"Ange?" the Phantom said as he set a cold hand on my shoulder. I snapped my head up and looked at him.

"Sorry," I said softly, looking back down. "You were saying?"

"That I am the Opera Ghost. Are you alright?" I shook my head.

"Not really," I said, gripping a nearby chair. I needed to quit remembering Songbird; it only made me sick with despair afterwards.

"Come, I'll take you to a room. You can't go anywhere looking like that," the Phantom said. I nodded, and allowed this complete stranger to lead me to a house that bordered the lake. He led me up a set of stairs into a small room with a bed. "Now, you can sleep in here for as long as you want, yet don't leave this room without me. I wouldn't want any unfortunate accidents to come to you." I nodded and collapsed on the bed. I rolled onto my stomach and fell asleep immediately.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Next chapter! One person said that Erik acted like he liked Ange, yet really, he was just sort of shocked that another human being was around, and that it wasn't just another hallucination brought on by whatever drugs he's been using. Now, he gets over the shock, and treats her like he would almost any other intruder. Also, I've just finished **_**Phantom**_**, by Susan Kay, and two things have come up as a result. 1) I love Erik all the more, and 2) I just have to use some of her elements in this story. I'm also starting on **_**Angel of the Opera**__**: Sherlock Holmes Meets the Phantom of the Opera, **_**and excellent book that is some legit crossover. It's also one of the few books where…well, I won't say. I like it. Anyways, here's the next chapter, read, review and enjoy. **

I woke up a few hours later, panicking because I didn't recognize the room. Not to mention the fact that I didn't have my jacket on and buildings meant people. I looked around and carefully stepped out of the bed. The room was relatively plain, with a bed, dresser and a vanity. Yet compared to what I normally slept in it was a room in the finest palace. I walked over to the door, still trying to remember how I had gotten there in the first place. I placed my hand on the doorknob when I heard a voice behind me say, "I wouldn't do that if I were you." I turned around and saw the Phantom, as I remembered what had happened last night.

"How long have you been watching me?" I asked him as my hand gravitated towards my knife.

"Not long. I came to take you to the dining room for something to eat," he said.

"As you interrogate me?" I said. He looked sharply back at me as he led me through the passage he came through.

"Of course. I'd like to know how someone made it into my domain. Especially after five years," he said. He opened another door and motioned for me to sit at the table inside the room. I quickly sat down and gawked at the amount of food on the table. There were French pastries, fruit, and eggs. Wonderful eggs. Being on the road and all, I rarely, if ever, had eggs. "You _can_ eat. I'm not going to stop you," he said. I nodded slowly as I filled the plate with fresh food and started eating. After taking a few slow bites, I set the fork down and looked over at the Phantom.

"What do you want to know," I asked him.

"How did you get down here? Didn't you encounter any traps?" he asked me, leaning forward. I took another bite, thinking over how I would answer him.

"I was walking along the street, and I heard you cry out. I mistook you for someone else and came running. I didn't encounter any traps," I said. I watched him process this information for another minute, and I turned back to the plate of food. I was tempted to just wolf down the food, yet I did have standards, and I didn't want to look like an uncivilized fool in front of the Phantom. He waited to ask another question until after I had set my fork down again.

"Who did you mistake me for?" he asked. I closed my eyes, and clenched my fist around the fork.

"A—a friend," I choked out. I kept my eyes trained on the small bunch of grapes on the china plate in front of me, trying to block out memories that were fighting their way to the front of my mind. I heard the Phantom move his chair back and I felt his hand grip the back of my chair. He spun the chair around, and gripped my hand that was clenched onto the fork.

"Let go of the fork. It won't do anything to help you," he said in my ear. I closed my eyes and let go of the fork, which dropped in his open hand. "Ange, what happened with him?" I pulled away from him and stood up.

"You stir up too many memories. I don't even know why I'm here," I said, shaking my head.

"I could say the same about you. I haven't had another human being in my abyss since the burning of the opera house," he said as he stepped up behind me. I turned around and looked him in the eye.

"Yet I doubt that your life has been harder than mine. Always having to be on the run," I said.

"Never being able to see another human being," he continued for me. I narrowed my eyes slightly before continuing with another line.

"Seeing your friend murdered before your eyes because he was too thick to leave with you," I said, knowing that he wouldn't be able to relate to that.

"That's what happened?" he said with a small smile, obviously proud that he was able to pry that from me. "I can honestly say that I've never had that happen to me. Of course, I've only really ever had two good friends."

"That's more than me. I've only had one. My mother had me locked in her house in an attempt to keep my existence a secret. I left when I was thirteen and never looked back. I didn't even meet another person I could trust until about a year and a half ago," I said. "What about that girl whose picture is on that bookcase?" I asked him, pointing to a picture of a young girl with an innocent face. He looked over at the picture and walked over to it, placing it face-down.

"It's hard to think about," he said. The fact that he called her an "it" didn't pass me.

"Seems like we both have complicated pasts, yet I'm the only one volunteering information. What about that doesn't seem fair," I said. The Phantom chuckled softly and mirthlessly, and shook his head.

"Hasn't anyone told you? Life isn't fair. It's high time you learned that," he said.

"Have you looked at my back recently? I get called 'demon' and 'monster' and I've even been accused of being Lucifer himself," I said. "I know the meaning of not fair." The Phantom looked over at me, and took a few steps towards me.

"Well then, would you blame me for not letting you leave here? Alive?" he asked me. I narrowed my eyes slightly.

"Why would you have to worry about me telling anyone about this place? It's not like I'm going to tell anyone," I said as I took a step away from him.

"Oh, yet what would happen if someone happened to see you walking out, and ask you where you've been?" he asked me as he took another step towards me. I glanced behind me and saw that somehow he had backed me up against the wall. I could have sworn that I was backing up towards a door.

"If I was walking," I said as I quickly looked for another means away from him, "I would make something up like how I had heard stories about the great opera house, and wanted to assess the damage. Or that I was someone's maid who had sent me here to assess the damage and was thinking about purchasing it. I wouldn't tell the truth. Some things are better left a secret." I started sidestepping towards a window that looked out to the lake, hoping that he wouldn't notice the shift in my direction.

"Even if he already knew the stories?" Erik said as he moved to block the windows from me. Damn! I resigned myself to accepting that he wouldn't let me leave his sight without his permission.

"I wouldn't be able to tell him out of a crowd, so obviously I would deny being with you. I know when there's a secret to keep. Can I go?" I asked.

"No. Sit back down," he said. I sighed and glared at him as I sat down. "I want to know two more things. First, who you mistook me for. I know I have a very particular voice, the voice of God, some have said. And second, how you knew I was here! You've not told me at all," he said. I sighed and started tapping my hand on the table.

"My friend," I said slowly. "His voice i—was—remarkably similar to yours. It's been exactly one year since he…left. I had a dream where he came back, and then when I heard you, I wasn't really thinking all that clearly and so I ran towards you. For your second question, I didn't know you were here, and I thought we had been over that. No one told me, and it was some miracle that I just happened to be walking by." He sighed and sat down in a chair beside me.

"Now, Ange, I want you to look into my eyes," he said, his voice low and dangerous. I made a point not to look at him. "Look at me!" he said, gripping my chin and pulling my face towards him. Grudgingly, I looked into his eyes, mesmerizing and mismatched. "Now, you will tell me who your friend is, and how you know I was here?" he asked me. His voice had gained an almost musical nature, and, despite my Songbird having tried this same trick enough times that I was able to numb myself towards it, I was inexplicably drawn to fulfill his request.

"My friend was my Songbird. He sang to me, kept me company, and was my best friend. We went to England, and he…he…he stayed there," I said in a dream-like state, only stumbling over the last few words. "He told me about you when I had asked him about it after hearing a ballerina scream about how that opera house in Italy had its own ghost. He said that the legend came from the Opéra Populaire. I asked him if we could visit, yet he…stayed in England before we could. I came by myself." Phantom nodded and turned away from me. I gasped, as if I had been holding my breath, and I turned away from him as well.

"So they still remember me after five years," he said softly. I nodded, and he turned to face me. "What do you mean, 'he stayed in England'?" I shook my head.

"I don't speak about it. Don't make me dredge up painful memories, or I'll be forced to make you dredge up your ghosts," I said. He glared pointedly at me, and I returned the glare with equal ferocity.

"No matter how much you glare at me, I'm not going to let you leave. I'll lead you back up to your room, and you can get cleaned up there. There's a bathroom connected to your room that you can use," he said, standing up suddenly.

"A bathroom? Like, with running water and towels?" I asked him, standing up as well.

"Of course, what else would there be?" he said. I shrugged, not willing to admit that I usually took baths in rivers, if ever. He led me back up the small back passage and saw me to my room. I looked back at the way we came, and saw that both he, and the passage, had vanished. I looked back at the door, and back into the room. I carefully walked over to the door, and opened the doorknob. The door opened to reveal a lavish bathroom fit for a royal palace in my mind. I'd like to say that I cleaned up and still didn't forgive him for keeping me here against my will, yet I completely forgave him at that point. I untied the straps on the back of my shirt (it helped me get my shirt on and off without hurting my wings too much), and pulled off the rest of my clothes as the bath started to fill with pleasantly warm water. I stepped into the water, and sighed with pleasure.

About a half hour later, I stepped out of the bath and pulled a towel around my body. For once, I felt clean and warm. I spent another few minutes drying my dark hair before I went to look for my bag. I could have sworn that I had brought it into the bathroom with me, yet I couldn't see it anywhere. Trying not to panic, I stepped into the bedroom, and looked around it. I went back into the bathroom, and dressed back in the dirty clothes of mine since my bag had my only extra set of clothes.

"Phantom!" I called after another few minutes of tearing the room apart for my bag.

"What? Do you not know how to turn a knob?" he asked, obviously annoyed.

"Have you seen a brown leather patched bag? I can't find it!" I asked him, looking up from the side of the bed. He sighed and shook his head.

"I haven't. Why would I keep track of your things?" he asked me. I shrugged.

"So you haven't seen it at all?" I asked him again.

"No! Why are you so worried about this bag? It's not like you need a bag here," he said.

"It's my whole life, Phantom. Everything I own is in there, including food, a change in clothes and some of my most prized possessions," I told him. The Phantom sighed, and looked out the window—which was barred shut—to the lake.

"I'll look around the opera house," he said. I rushed up and gave him a hug.

"Thank you. I don't know what I would do without it," I said as I felt him stiffen under my hold, and I pulled away from him. He nodded stiffly and disappeared out of sight. I took a deep breath, glad that I would have my belongings within the month, and I sat down on the bed, going to sleep again. It had been a long time since I had the chance to just rest.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: It's been a while, yet here's the next chapter. Personally, I'm liking how it's turning out, yet I'd like to hear from the readers. It was hard keeping Erik in character, and I feel he slightly deviated from the Erik I love at the end, yet other than that, I'm feeling he's pretty close to Kay Erik right now, yet that's beside the point. Anyways, here's the next chapter, read, review and all that jazz. **

I woke up shortly after that as a shadow briefly blocked the light. I opened my eyes, blinked a few times and sat up. I saw a dress sitting at the foot of the bed with a note on top of it. I reached down and grabbed it. I knew who it was from without even having to look at it, and I opened it, curious as to why the Phantom would take the time to write a letter rather than just talking to me.

_Ange,_

_Sorry, yet I couldn't find your bag. I did get you a new set of clothes. I didn't think you would want to wear the same clothes continually. If you want to explore the house, don't go down any hidden passages or step on any black tiles. _

_O. G._

I set the note back down and I looked at the dress. I lifted the dress up and saw another piece of clothing under it. I softly swore under my breath.

"A corset? Seriously? I wouldn't be surprised if I drop dead from the lack of oxygen," I muttered bitterly. He was right though, I didn't want to wear these clothes for another week, and so I sighed and got out of bed. It had been nearly three years since I had last worn a corset, or even a dress. I had to wear the corset though, considering the dress would be too small without it.

"Are you going to wear it?" I heard the Phantom said. I jumped a few feet into the air and I spun around.

"What? That thing? Never," I said, refusing to admit that I was about to put it on.

"Well then, you won't get your bag back," he replied as he lifted up my worn leather bag. I reached out to grab it, and he pulled it back.

"Give that to me," I said as I stepped closer to him and tried to grab it again. He stepped back and moved it away from me.

"Not without the dress. You put it on, I take your other clothes and you get your bag. I won't have some girl, no matter how angelic she already is, wear boy's clothes," he replied. I glared at the dress, and then I took a moment to glare at him.

"Why? We're underground and you're the only person who's going to see me," I said, reaching for my bag again.

"Because I said so. Not to mention I do know how to clip bird's wings," he said softly. I instinctively took a step back and felt my eyes grow wide.

"You wouldn't seriously do that?" I asked him.

"I'll be back in a half-hour. I'll also bring some scissors if you don't wear the dress," he said as he stepped out. I took a shuddering breath and sat back down on the bed. I looked back over at the dress and snatched it.

A few minutes later, I had the corset on, and I was slowly getting used to the lack of oxygen. I pulled the blue dress on and sat back down on the bed as I wrapped my arm around my rib-cage.

"I see you took the dress," the Phantom said.

"I would rather take the dress than get my wings clipped," I said bitterly. "I'd like my bag please, Phantom." I held my hand out expectantly.

"My name is Erik, not Phantom," he said sharply.

"I'd like my bag, Erik," I said again as I stood up and reached for my bag.

"What's the letter from?" he said, holding up a letter in his other hand. I looked at it and saw the fair handwriting of my Songbird's mother spelling out "Erik Noir."

"No one. I've just been flying across Europe and the middle East looking for that man," I said. "Now give me my bag, and that letter."

"What if I say no?"

"What if I come at you with my knife?"

"You know that I cannot die."

"I know where to stab someone so that they hurt for days before they die, so you would hurt for days before being healed."

"And I know how to protect myself. You, though, _can_ die and so I wouldn't try anything stupid," Erik said before tossing my bag. I caught it and set it down next to me on the bed.

"The letter?" I asked him. He turned around without glancing back at me and walked off. I sighed, resigning myself to the fact that I wouldn't get my Songbird's letter back. I stood up and walked over to the door. I was tired of this room, so I walked over to the door and opened it. I stepped out into the hall, and suddenly remembered what Erik said.

"_Don't step on any black tiles,"_ he had said. I looked down, luckily I had stepped on a white tile, yet as I leaned over and looked for a second white tile. I heard the door swing shut and it nearly pitched me forward onto the black tiles. I regained my balance quickly and I felt the doorknob behind me. It was locked. I sighed, and continued my search. The hall was too narrow for me to fly in, even if I could breathe with this corset, and there was nothing for me to grab onto so that I could somehow get myself over to the small, white tile about two yards away.

"Erik!" I called. "Damn you, Erik! Get over here!" I didn't even want to figure out what would happen if I stepped on a black tile. He talked so easily about killing me that I figured that he could easily have the tiles trapped. I felt the doorknob turn behind me and I tumbled backwards, conveniently into Erik's arms. He was cold, almost like a dead body, and I could tell that he was quite thin. I looked up into his masked face and I quickly stood up and turned to look at him.

"Yes?" he said with a bit of a smirk.

"Are the tiles actually trapped?" I said after a moment of wondering why I had called him.

"You actually believed that? No, they aren't. I was just wondering what you would do if you were stuck someplace," Erik said with that smirk still on his face.

"Well thanks, Erik," I said. My mind turned back to the letter. "Can I have that letter you took from me? I really need to get it to Erik Noir." He shook his head sharply.

"No. I will also be having company over tonight. I hope you can entertain yourself for an hour in this room," he said. I sighed and nodded.

"Will I get dinner at the very least?" I asked him. He nodded.

"I will bring a tray in here. Now, do you need anything else?" he asked, sounding slightly annoyed.

"I just need to know if I'm truly safe here. Especially if I decide to explore the house," I replied.

"You will be. I haven't spent the last five years doing nothing. The traps in the house are all dismantled," he replied. "Don't disturb me again." He turned, and with a wave of his cape, he disappeared down a passageway that was quickly covered by a bookcase. I sat down on the bed, feeling light-headed and I wondered, not for the first time, what was in that letter that was so important. I pulled my bag closer to me and I pulled the stuff out. Despite Erik saying that I was perfectly safe in his house I didn't quite believe him.

"I miss you, Songbird," I whispered as I stroked a brown and black striped feather. I set the feather carefully on the bedside table and I walked over to the door. I was tired of this room, and I wanted out, preferably out on the roof of the opera house. I grabbed my bag, which conveniently still had my normal clothes in it. I was determined to find a way to the surface, even if it meant going against Erik's word.

"What are you doing?" I heard Erik say as he grabbed my left wing. I paused, and then looked back at him.

"I need to get some flight time in. I'm going to start dying if I don't," I replied.

"Dying? That's a bit melodramatic, isn't it?" Erik asked. I tried to pull away from him and paused when I felt a tug on my wings. I glanced back at my wing that he was holding again, and saw that he was holding one of my primaries. If that feather was pulled out, I wouldn't be able to fly for ages.

"No, it's not," I replied. "I broke a wing once and nearly died. It only took two weeks to heal, yet I nearly died in that time. I lost my appetite and nearly my will to live. If my Songbird hadn't been shoving food down my throat, I would have starved myself to death."

"So? I don't really care about that. You won't tell anyone about me, and I won't allow you to have the chance!" he said. I sighed and closed my eyes.

"Erik, please. It's not like I could tell anyone and why would I? It wouldn't benefit me at all. Please, show me how to get onto the roof," I said softly. I opened my eyes and looked into his masked face. Slowly, carefully, he let go of my wing and I stepped away from him.

"I will show you how to get onto the roof. I'll have enough time to before my guest gets here," he said. I nodded and he started walking out of the house. I followed behind him. He led me to a small boat, which he motioned for me to get in.

"Thank you," I said as I stepped in. Erik shook his head and started punting the boat forward. "Why are you so opposed to me flying?" I asked him softly after a few minutes of silence.

"You can see the sun, and not be repulsed by the reactions of others," he replied coldly.

"Erik, my friend was killed because of the reactions of others. I think I'm repulsed by that," I replied. Erik shook his head.

"It's not the same, Ange. You weren't the one who was killed." I stood up, glaring at him.

"Do _not_ say that again. He sacrificed himself for me. I would have given myself up for him any day," I replied. Erik stopped the boat, and turned towards me.

"Exactly. It's not the same. No one would give themself up for me," Erik replied as he started moving the boat again. I shook my head and sat back down. It wasn't the same, and I knew that. We continued moving along the lake until we came up to a shoreline leading to stairs. "Now just walk up the corridor. It will lead you straight to the Prima Dona's room. There you can change back into your usual clothes and head up to the roof. I just expect that you're back in the dress the next time I see you."

"And just how do I get to the roof?" I asked him as I stepped onto the shore.

"Head to the stage. There's a staircase that leads directly to the roof. It's metal, and was still standing last I saw," he said. I nodded and started walking up the sloped corridor.

A few minutes later, I came into a large room. I stowed my bag under a large vanity, and I changed into my normal clothes. It was a much welcome change, and as I took a few deep breaths, I started walking towards where I thought that the stage would be. Upon finding it, I started walking up to the roof.

I took a deep breath, and jumped off of the roof. The sun had just slid below the horizon, with the first stars appearing across the sky. Soaring across the sky, I tried to just focus on my wings' steady flapping, yet I found my thoughts drawn towards Erik.

_He terrifies me, so why do I feel obliged to go back to him? Maybe because I know he'll tear apart all of Europe to find me. Of course I could leave Europe, and just go to America, yet there aren't as many open spaces. There is Canada, yet it would be hard to get over there to begin with…_I found myself flying east, and I quickly turned back to the west. _I'll never get that image of his tortured eyes out of my head. I'm glad I stabbed him, considering it got rid of that look. I'd best get back to him, at any rate…_I turned towards the opera house and dropped onto the large statue on the roof. There was a man standing there, wearing an astrakhan hat as well as a clean-cut suit.

"What could Erik have possibly been waiting for?" I heard him ask as I slid carefully down the roof. "Nothing is up here!" He threw his hands up in the air and started walking back towards the door. I stepped onto the roof, watching him, when I slipped and crashed down. Recovering quickly, I launched myself at him.

"Do not move," I ordered as I pulled put my knife. "When I pull my hand away, you will not scream, shout or call out for help, otherwise you will get more friendly with this knife than I am sure you will like to. You will answer only the questions I ask, and you will not say anything else. Am I understood?" He nodded weakly, and I slowly pulled my hand away from him.

"Now, who are you, and how do you know Erik?" I asked him.

"Allah, what are you?" he said, taking in my appearance.

"That wasn't an answer!" I said as I brought my knife closer to his throat.

"I'm Nadir Khan, and I've known Erik for ages," he said, trying to get away from my knife.

"That's more like it. Why were you up here?"

"Erik kept glancing up at the ceiling, as if he wanted to go up. That's not like him, so I came up," he said. "This must be a vision from Allah," he added softly, speaking in Persian.

"I'm not a vision from Allah, idiot. Now, you will not speak of this meeting to anyone, except to me or Erik. I do not exist otherwise. I will hunt you down if you tell anyone about me. Understood?" I asked him, speaking in Persian as well. He looked shocked—of course, I would be too, if someone started speaking such a hard language with ease.

"I understand. When did you learn Persian? Not many Europeans make it that far east," he said. I let him go and turned away from him.

"I've traveled as far east as Persia, and as far west as you can go without having to travel more than a day over water," I replied. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go."

"Do you need assistance back to Erik's home? It can get a little confusing," he said, placing a hand on my shoulder. I pulled away from him and started walking towards the door.

"I do not need your help, and I do not want your help. Now, after you, Monsieur Khan," I said as I held the door open for him. He narrowed his eyes slightly and walked out the door. I followed behind him and watched as he carefully started walking down the stairs.

"I hope I have the pleasure of seeing you again, Mademoiselle," he said when we made it to the stage floor.

"_Inshallah_. I would love to have the pleasure to possibly kill you when I see you again," I said with a pleasant smile. He took a step back, nodded and ran off towards the nearest door.

"Marvelous performance, Ange," I heard Erik say from behind me. I turned and saw him slowly clapping his hands. "I couldn't have done it better myself."

"Done what?" I asked as I turned back away from him and started walking to the Prima Dona's room.

"Kept him quiet about my presence. He is now completely terrified of you. I particularly like that last part," Erik said. "What possessed you to add that part?" I shrugged as I continued walking up the aisles of seats.

"Figured that you would like it. I don't know. He seems to be the type of person who needs to get his loyalties in check," I replied. "And why are you up here? I figured that you wouldn't considering your…views about what I wear."

"I wondered where Nadir had gone. I didn't see him walk out, so I wondered what he started poking his nose into," Erik replied. He was following close behind me and I quickened my pace slightly. "Ange," I heard his voice say when I nearly reached the doors. I turned to see him standing on the stage and looking up at me.

"Yes Erik?"

"Why did you come back?"


End file.
